


No Harm Done

by jvc808



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman, Charmie - Fandom, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer - Fandom, Timothée/Armie, armie hammer/timothée chalamet
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Fluff, Hidden Agenda, Light Smut, Love, M/M, Regret, alterior motives, friendships, possible cheating references, possible happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2019-08-06 21:29:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16395437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jvc808/pseuds/jvc808
Summary: A portrait of when armie stumbles upon pap pics of timmy and lily.Somehow he knows he deserves this.





	1. Chapter 1

It never meant to be like this. No, this wasn’t the intent at all.

The phone exited your grasp like you had just touched hot coal. Only you dropped it a second too late, skin already burned. It seared its way up your arm, past your chest and settled under that lump formulating in the inside of your throat. Your face; hot.

You were grateful then for the wetness pooling at your inner eyelids, cooling you down. You are colder now. Ice cold.

The incessant buzz of your notifications overriding the stifled labored breathing of your own. Five minutes ago you decided idly to: 

  1. prop your legs on the coffee table
  2. open instagram
  3. click tags 
  4. type in: #armiehammer



You had done this as a fated ritual every night. You couldn’t type in his name because it would be too obvious. Too obvious to liz, who occupies your phone more often than you ever do. Too obvious to yourself, really, because you convinced yourself long ago that you wouldn’t be doing...this. This thing of keeping up with his life. Whats funny is that 90 percent of the photos tagged are not even of you, but of him. But you knew this. You think briefly of the interchangeability of your names...and the lunacy that started it all. Elio and Oliver. Timmy and Armie. Call be my....how ironic. A jilted laugh.

Four minutes ago you just so happen to scroll past a photo of him...and her. Then you can’t stop. You’re digging further. Shes donning his pink hat. Another. Hes reaching over- grazing her hair. Another. An embrace. Another. Lips locked.The past three minutes feels like three hours.This shouldn’t be a surprise really. Liz passively mentioned it over breakfast one day. Liz passively mentioning it while tucking the kids to sleep.She’s looking towards you, phone in hand cooing “They look so sweet, hun look at this.” But you never did.or “I knew they’d hit it off Arms...we should have introduced them sooner.”

You never respond.

At breakfast you’d lower your newspaper a bit and give her a glare. The lower half of your face hidden-is jaw clenched.   
In the dark you carefully pick up the phone. You handle it like a grenade. Careful not to double-tap, accidentally. But with your eyes closed you haphazardly try to exit out of the app. Careful not to see those images again.A swallow. You thumb through your messages. You deleted his contact but his number and text messages remain.

 

A month ago. Thats when he has texted you last.“Don’t ever contact me again, Armie. I mean it.” 

 

And you never did. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was your idea Liz.

You were obsessed. Infatuated. In love.

You were convinced that you two had born a phantom organ shared between you and him. Not quite a heart. Not quite a soul. But something a mix the two.This, you rationalized, wasthe reason why you were not able to be without him for too long. The physical proximity was a necessity now, for your survival. You almost seemed lifeless without him.

So more and more you saw him. Obsessed. Infatuated. In love. These things you kept to yourself. This truth never saw the light of day. You only knew this for yourself. Surely you would never speak this admission to a soul. Certainly not to Timmy, who has proclaimed his brotherly love for you time and time again. Grateful in which you are now his mentor in life, a guiding light.

Certainly not to Elizabeth who had felt this closeness as an ode to your craft. Both with a deep acknowledgement of his talent.Both knowing he was nothing less than a walking prodigy himself.Elizabeth knew Tim’s stardom; inevitable. You were convinced that she too craved his association. She'd even encourage you two to be in company herself.Supported it even.

She found her name getting mentioned more. Her own celebrity heightened now after him. Invited to more lustrous parties. More red carpets. More events. She relished this. You always knew this to be that one chick in her armor.Her insatiable lusting after those bright flashing lights. You could do without it all together, but this, this was her drug of choice. “Nothing feels better,” she told you once on the red carpet. She shined, ecstatic, elated, high even, from the constant click, click, click of the camera shutters. Strangers yelling “Here! Elizabeth!” commanding her gaze and attention. She would practice her poses robotically in front of the full length mirror before bed. "Its like prom, babe." She'd say, while shifting her hands to her waist for another pose, another plastered grin on her face. "Whats not to love?" She'd quip over her shoulder. 

So of course she encouraged this growing bond between you two. She said to “Play it up hun,” one night in bed, her forehead on your chest. Her ring and middle finger walking up and down then gently patting down your chest hair. “I just think...you should give the fans what they want. These shippers, hun, they loooooooove you guys. They love you guys in love.”You averted your gaze then. If you only _knew Liz_.

You nodded. You agree. “Yeah,” was all you could muster. She fell asleep, the plan created, mission achieved. But you, you stayed up your mind reeling with this permission. You almost felt bad but you felt too good. The doors this opened. What did she mean? Was this meant only for you to play it up in public? For the press? For the fans? What about in private? For yourself? For him? For you both. 

She didn’t emphasize the rules to all of this. Nothing specific was put into place. You were thankful for the omission.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A real messed up situation

You imagine the descent as one would approach a body of water. With rolled up and toes dipped in, you attempted to feel out the temperature of it all. This was you, nonchalantly telling an interviewer how you fell in love with Timmy on set. "Everyday I see him, the more I fall more and more in love with him." The very thing you could never speak into existence, out now, falling upon the ear of a stranger and recorded for others, hundreds, perhaps thousands to see.

This was the start of the undoing, apparently. You fucking dove right in.

You came alive during press meetings. Here you could unabashedly speak about the love of your life and how you fell in love, the event that fated you two together. In hindsight, you wish you possessed more tact than this. When Liz had given you the O-K, you imagined to give the public just a  trickle of what you were feeling on the inside. A little here and there. But by this time, you were brimming with all the words you could have never said. These words were bursting, writhing itself out of your seams. The feelings that occupied your mind, heart, and soul manifested itself out of the many orifices of your body.

In the ways of words- through your mouth.

In the ways of those longing stares and hungry gazes- through your eyes eyes

At night, the desire- it was another thing entirely.  
It festered in every pore, and when you allowed yourself this, it accumulated to _that_ area of your body, and out, out, out it went down the tub drain.

When touching was added to the mix- well- if you could have pinpoint a turning point of the whole thing- it would have to have been that.

Timmy, oblivious Timmy- He did not take note of the words, did not take note of your stares, but your touch- there was no denying the electricity there. So electrifying in fact that it vibrated so strongly, that it seemed to have cracked and  shattered your current state of existence into something new. An alternate reality if you will. Another dimension. But this was so, so very real.

It was with these feather weight touches to his skin- sometimes from a brash notion to him during an interview, with a firm grasp to his shoulder whilst standing side by side on the red carpet, the all encompassing hugs at award ceremonies- it was in these brief moments where Timmy became attune. But,

Timmy  
was  
skeptical.

Until...

There was an afternoon on your adjoining hotel balcony, after a press release in Paris. You couldn't keep your eyes off him during the whole time there. It was to the point where you could no longer control it. You no longer wanted to, really.  You slipped- "We both went through something that was so intense and so beautiful and so ethereal. It was such a singular experience that we only really share with each other and we’ll always have that." Then you locked eyes with him, mentally, telepathically telling him everything he wanted him to know. Telling him all about the things that mattered.

On the balcony, Timmy stood adjacent to you, watching the sun set. The amber of the sun's rays arranged a golden glow, laminating Timmy's skin, you noticed. The sun beamed a gentle heat, kissing your pores.

All heat left you right when he turned to ask you, " Armie? Do you even know what you're saying anymore? What exactly is _this_ , that you're doing?"

_What exactly is this that you’re doing?_

You weigh your options. _This_. _Here_. _Right_ _fucking_ _now_. Your chance to confess. _You need to seize this moment now because if not now, when?_

To be honest, lf it were up to you, this secret, you would take it to the tomb, perfectly content with letting your love ferment and exist solely on film. Perfectly fine with what you allowed yourself until now, your current situation of hiding the truth in plain sight. Answers both raw and revealing, existing just within the products of those press junkets. Your proclamations of “I love yous” safe, but only with an audience.

This beautiful boy with his rich unguarded openness that he wears on the surface, letting everyone in, and you wanted in.

In. Every. Single. Way.

This realization, paired with your previous resolve to take this to the grave, just a second prior was just an excerpt of your constant internal struggle. These conflicting feelings that occupied your mind at all hours of the night. This Want. Want. Want. Turning to Need. Need. Need. Turning into “Its all one in the same.”

You teeter between indifference and a sick, sad desperation....and you've been off kilter like this ever since.

In truth this had all felt like poison. You felt this war all over his insides. Some days...most days you feel a sensation similar to getting skinned. Your insides burned, felt like you was turning yourself out from the inside. Your body rebelling so much to say “I _f_ _you_ _don’t_ _reach_ _out_ , _then, I_   _will.”_

 So you decides. You must speak. You must tell. You need to purge yourself of this secret before it kills you.

“You’re making things very difficult for me,” You start, mentally patting yourself on the back on the perfect timing and execution of the line. Its a thing you did with each other. A little game you shared. An inside joke to see how often and how many of Aciman’s words you could use in real life-real time. If you look into it deeper, it may just have been your little way of keeping that magic you had built in the film alive. If you want to go deeper than that though, it may have just been your little way and showing how much of the film paralleled your life . In that you were really his Oliver and yes, he was really your Elio. But this was not the time for your little games apparently.

“Armie- could you not? Answer my question. We're not taking about the movie right now okay? This isn’t the movie.” Tims shaking his head now, his curls offer you a whiff of his shampoo, not realizing you were standing so close to him.

“But what if it is...like the movie?” His curls are tickling your skin now. Weird you think, not realizing you had bridged that space between you, closer now than you were before.

You check your surroundings. Right. Still on the balcony. The sky is dimmer now. The air a bit cooler. The tension thickening. You crook your head and scan his face. Tims face contorting. An arched brow there. An upwards turn of his lips. He scrunches his nose. A look that read: incredulous. disbelief.

You're quick to think of doing one of three things.

  **Scenario** **1**.

Its a flight or fight response. Flight. With your fingers palming the railing of the balcony, you could just jump over this railing with the hopes of escaping a potentially awkward situation.

Though you don't have wings...and, jumping off a 17th floor balcony, you would surely die. No, as much as your life is shit right now, you're nowhere near suicidal.

Nope. That wont do.

_Next_.

**Scenario** **2**.

You could double over and muster up the most boisterous laugh you can manage and playfully knock on Timmy's shoulders.  
“Maaaaaaaaaaaan, Im kidding. Im kidding.”

Though, you surely weren't kidding. Looking down at you're double pleated trousers and noticing a growing pleat there...the tightening areas of fabric-yep. Definitely not kidding. Timmy eyes soon followed suit.

_What_ _a_ _rookie_ _move_ , you scold yourself. You had learned early in your adolescence that when checking for a bonafied boner one must lower their gaze while maintaining no movement in the head. Movement always attracted attention.

It must have been Timmys shampoo. It could have been that tickle of his hair to your neck. You were both staring now at the additional company.

Timmy was staring. Hard. Almost as hard as your...

Timmy bites his lower lip.

**Scenario** **3** :

You eye Timmy up and down. Your gaze starting from his freshly wetted lips down to the gray waistband of his joggers He was in gray sweats. The ease in making out his growing print made this outfit choice seem intentional. Would it be okay to play their little game now? Could you say “Timmy take your trunks off?” Could you now just drop down to his knees?? Would this answer his question?   
  
_This_ _Tim_. _This_ _is_ _exactly_ _what_ _im_ _doing_. You would say right before you encircle your lips around him. 

You begin to open your mouth to speak deciding this is the scenario you'd like to go with. Yes, this was your final answer. This was the scenario you needed to go with. Right. Now.

Your throbbing now. Pulsating. A wetness. You decide to assume position before you even speak. Right as your left knee makes contact with the ground beneath you, your phone rings.

Like nails on a chalkboard. On your phone, a photo of Elizabeth emerges.

You are hastily back on your feet. You pick up on the third ring as you step inside and close the glass sliding door behind you.  “Liz, Hi.” You somehow manages to breathe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> still steamy

“Liz, Hi” Your flushed. Face beet red. You slap your cheeks a few times with a few shakes of your head, afraid that Liz might see how aroused you might have been at that moment. Although, impossible, you're still fit to try.

You clear your throat a few times before making your way to sit on the end of the double bed. You cross and uncross your thighs, willing yourself, your erection, rather to calm down. Though, the opposite, the friction and movement of your thighs making yourself harder, even, if that was even possible. Hard as a diamond. 

“Hunnnnney,” Elizabeth purrs. Shes been updating you through texts the whole day. Her afternoon spent with the ladies at the bakery trying out a few new recipes. Wines involved, of course. It was a given...and when wines involved Liz almost always gets like _this_.

You look towards the balcony and see a visibly distressed Timmy pressed up against the sliding door. Hes facing you, forehead taut against the glass, eyes creased tight into a thin black line. Even from this distance, you're still able to make out the impossible length of hislashes. His lips still parted. So pink, a shade entirely of its own. You let your mind wander and think if there might be any other areas of Tim's body that may carry the same, pink shade. Perhaps the underside of his...Perhaps between....

“Darrrrrling, you know why I called didn’t you??” You're aware.

“Remember when you were on the set of The Man From Uncle? I swore we had phone sex everrrrry night.” She giggles. You remembered. You couldn’t get enough of her back then. Your eyes pan towards Timmy again. A beat. Timmy’s eyes open on instinct. Its a glare. The tilt of his head on the glass, his eyebrows hooding his eyes. The amber in his eyes brighter against the dusk of the night. You swear you saw the fire dancing in his eyes.

Then Timmy does the undeniably most sexiest thing he does with his jaw. That clench and declench. A move only gifted to those with the bone structure to match. He was curved by the gods. Chiseled after Adonis. You look down at your pleated trousers. A spot that is a deeper shade of the blue of your pants making an arrival. Your erection, now, so plump and impatient, threatened to unzip your trousers all on its own might. It nearly does. 

“Tell me, tell me what you want me to do, baby...” Liz interjects, still on the line. Her voice, a million miles away, reminiscent of someone you used to know, like this, doing things like this, during a time that seemed like ages and ages ago. 

Timmys fingers pull open the door and hes walking in. Your eyes follow the bopping print of his sweats. It is...bobbing up and down with each step. Hes headed to the bathroom. It is in line- 12 o'clock to the bed. Right infront of your line of sight. You squeeze your thighs closed. Tight. You clutch at the sheets of the bed. 

“Armie? You still with me?” _No_ _liz_. _Im_ _gone_. _Im_ _outside_ _my_ _head_.

You forces a sound out. Something between a groan and a moan. Timmy doesn’t shut the door but hes leaning against the sink.

“I want you to take your clothes off for me.” You say, louder than need be. All the while, your eyes never leave Timmy's.

“Yes baby,” You hear shuffling on her end. 

Timmys bending over now, stepping out of his sweats. With one swift motion hes throwing his shirt over his head.Timmy waits for the next command. His finger tapping the porcelain of the sink now, expectant. A sliver of a smirk, quick.

“I want you to....bring your finger to your lips and I want you to wet it with your tongue.” You watch as Timmy does what hes told. Or what he hears rather. Timmy sticks out his tongue and flicks it around his pointer finger. Generously licking it up and down. Excruciatingly slow at that.

A flashback to their kiss at Monet’s berm.His tongue possessed such fluidity, hes learned. These...these were the skills he was referring to on Ellen that one time.

“Will you suck it for me?” Timmy diverts his eyes to your crotch. He sticks his finger in his mouth and sucks.His cheeks go concave.

“Alright, touch yourself for me.” and so he does.

& You  
cant   
take   
it.

“I want you to cum and I want you to make it quick.” You need to get off the phone now.

“Armie....yesss, Armie. Im cuming baby,” You hear Liz moan through the phone.

Timmy pauses. He waits. You could not even make it a point to turn off your phone.  You're towering over him in a second.

“Im sick aren’t I?” Timmy breathes.   
“I wish everyone were as sick as you.” and with that you close the bathroom door behind you. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just an angst fest.

Five seconds ago you had dropped your iphone on the hotel floor not knowing if you had properly hung up the phone or not. 

Five seconds ago you were assisting both your wife and Timmy achieve self-induced orgasms simultaneously.Well, for the record, only one of them got off and well...the other was standing in front of you impatiently waiting his turn.

You had shut the door behind you, but was now sobered from the seconds that have passed. The moment completely lost. At this point, your gaze was set upon everything else instead of what was exactly in front of you. In front of you, Timmy grew increasingly embarrassed. His erection now completely flaccid, his skin tinted a shade of salmon. You noted how squirmy he had gotten all of sudden. Like a fish straight out of the water.

“Shit- Arm- oh my god, man. What the fuck am I doing?” Timmy exhales, clothes now gathered in his arms, oscillating between hiding his body with them and fumbling to put them on. You could see beads of sweat running down Timmy’s cheek unsure if this was from the sweat from the heat his aroused body might have experienced or if this was cold sweat from being embarrassed.

“Hey, Tim- Tim, calm down. Its okay,” you reached your arm out to in an effort to still him. Timmy, who was growing more and more wound up, moved more and more frantic. 

When Timmy used the back of his arm to swipe at his eyes, you realized that the beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks were not sweat at all. This revelation made you stop dead in your tracks. No, it never was meant to be like this. You never meant to do this at all.

While you stood frozen, Timmy did the exact opposite. He became a tornadic blur traveling at all ends of the hotel room, stuffing items in his duffel bag, grabbing his hotel key off the table, forcing his sole into each shoe. He whispered something lengthy but inaudible before saying “...bye.”

You didn’t catch what was said before the farewell, but you were sure it might have been along the lines of “You’re a terrible human being.”, “How could you do this to Liz?”, “How could you do this to me?”, “...and you call yourself a father?”, or maybe even “Didn’t you want this too? I swear I saw it in your eyes.”,  “You were looking at me the whole time.”, “But I love you, and I know you love me too.” The internal struggle again. It was always black or white. 

Five minutes ago Timmy left the hotel in a hurry, bags packed in tow. You hadn’t moved an inch. Now, it was as if you had replaced Timmy’s stupor earlier. Now, it was you, who was the fish out of water. But, a fish that had been out of the water for far too long. Your eyes glassy, mouth agape. Your breathing slow and far too labored. You felt without oxygen.

_Oh_ _god, What have you done?_

_This_. _This_ _might_ _feel_ _like_ _the_ _seconds_ _before_ _it_ _dies_. 


	6. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapters. How writers can write 3k for every chapter is beyond me. Thats major talent. 
> 
> Oh summary? Just armie being angsty part deux

It was a desolate plane ride home. You had taken the red eye, previously booking this flight time to attend to your rest. Although, it had been increasinglyapparent that you would not sleep a wink on this flight. You clenched your jaw as your eyes fixated on the no smoking icon. If only you could indulge in a little Mary Jane...

Liquor was the current consolation. The count? You did not know. Maybe it was because you were half seated, half sprawled in the expanse of your pod that you did not feel the effects of the intoxication. Surely, if you stood, the alcohol would hit you all at once. But alas, you did not feel any different. _Had_ _they_ _been_ _watering_ _down_   _your_   _drink_ _orders_ _all_ _along_? Maybe you had already felt the effects of inebriation before you started drinking, even. You felt the nausea. You felt the **sick**.

You observed the fliers surrounding you. The blue hue encompassed the aisles. To your right, a woman is rocking back and forth, cooing her child to rest, close to her chest. Behind her, a man dons a sleeping mask, his head tipped back, jaw slacked. His mouth, drooling. Other patrons: listening to music, typing at a screen, book illuminated under their reading lights. You wished you could be any one of them then. Anyone else, you pleaded, but myself. Your throat suddenly felt dry. Your pointer finger pushed incessantly at the ‘need assistance’ light in front of you.

“Another whiskey please- and _please_ , make that a double,”    
The stewardess sauntered back with a drink in each hand. Her musky perfume and its pronounced silage almost made you cough up the liquid that you had previously tossed back. She made a slow showing of leaning over, the buttons atop her uniform, purposely undone.

“Thought, I’d just bring you over two doubles..wouldn’t want to keep coming back and forth all night. Although...” She paused. Gave the vicinity a once over.“I wouldn’t mind _coming_ as much as you want me to.” She ended in almost a whisper.“Wouldn’t mind at all...” Her gaze fell to your lap “Mr. Hammer.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you fiddled with the window to your right before deciding to lift the shutter to find the black abyss of the night. The stewardess hung, slouched on your pod for a second, before standing upright. She ran her palms over the creases of her uniform before she huffed, puffed, and stomped away.   


You had found out Timmy booked an earlier flight back to L.A and you had spent what was left of the flight ruminating over the very fucked up situation you were in. For one, you all but confessed your love for Tim earlier on the balcony, likened the movie to real life, sported mutual boners in front of each other, was about to jump his bones right before Liz called, had phone sex with Liz in front of Timmy, that in which he had also directed Timmy through his own hand-job, then, topped off the whole fuckery by letting Timmy storm off in tears before he could say as much as “Stay,” or “Don’t go" or "No! Don’t you ever fucking leave.”

The cherry on top.

You wished you could stay suspended in flight forever. Never touching the tarmac of Los Angeles. Just permanently en route. You could not face the face that may await him at baggage claim _(Liz)_.Nor could you face the baggage you had to claim. That _double_ _entendre_. 

Your eyelids became weighted. The liquor now doing what it was commissionedto do in the first place. You felt the lull of sleep, oncoming.  Just as your top lid touched the bottom-a message rang over the intercom:

“Ladies and Gentleman. We hoped you enjoyed the in flight services. We are now preparing to land. The bar is now closed and we do remind you to fill out your arrival and immigration documentation before you leave...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im open to any and all suggestions!!


	7. Chapter 7

You land in L.A very much in one piece, much to your disappointment. You spent the last few minutes wishing for a leaky engine, the right wing to burst into flames- a typical hollywood crash landing. Anything, really. 

The flight attendants always seem to hype up the dangers of airplane mishaps. Always giving you the run down in case of emergencies, daintily pointing their fingers down the exit aisles, letting you know the importance of adjusting your face mask snug to your face before assisting anyone else. Its a shame these never come to fruition. You’ve just about heard that speech for what seems like the millionth time, just about been an expert at how not to die on a plane. Which means you’re also an expert on how not to not die on a plane. 

From the gate, to the baggage claim, to the winding road and into your gated home- you don’t know how you managed, but here you are all the same. Now, in bed with your wife straddled over you, thrusting and silently screaming your name. “Armie,” she breathes. God she missed you. She repeats it so over and over..every other syllable reaching your ear.

In the dimly lit room, her bones mimics his, you think. Brunette strands falling over hooded eyes, slender fingers and even slender limbs. You squint your eyes and it is him, straddled over you. It is him breathing your name. You’ve never came faster.

You roll over the bed letting nausea, guilt and shame lull you to sleep. 

He never calls you. Never texts. Never answers your calls. Never answers your texts. Elizabeth worries, “Honey, award season is near. Has Timmy contacted you? Won’t you be presenting any awards for him this season?!” 

She goes on, “I just need to know, dear. Sasha, my stylist...You know Sasha? She needs a heads up so we can schedule all my wardrobe fittings-“

Typical, you think. You shake your head and give her a shrug. “Liz...stop” You start. “Tim and I- we’re not close anymore...you know how this goes. Its time to move on.”

You say this more to yourself, than for her. 

“I knew you’d tell me a some sort of version of that, so i took the liberty of setting a little date between you two. He will be here in fifteen minutes. Im taking Ford and Harper to my mothers...you guys will have the house to yourselves and please, please fix whatever quarrel you guys are going through right now...i’m sick of being left out in the dust Armz. We’ve already missed out on so many parties and red carpet events.” She exhales, arms thrown up like its the most troublesome thing thats ever happened to her. 

The house was empty before you could even protest. 

Then, your door bell rings.


	8. Chapter 8

The doorbell rang.

To the outsider it may look like you had been physically frozen within that instant. However in that minute span of time you felt every fiber of your being vibrate, almost synchronizing with the rings of the door bell. It all became too much with that feeling of your body going into a frenzy alone. Fearful that he would leave before you could break free from this paralyzation, you fled haphazardly to the direction of the door. It was almost like you were engulfed by quick sand, how you had to trudge free from your frozen position, you needed to grasp for the furniture outlining the area for assistance.

You had flung the door open simultaneouslywith Tim turning his heel, back already facing the door. You reached out to grab ahold his shoulder, and he automatically nudged his shoulder out of your grasp with a grimace. You shuddered.

“Hey sorry-“ He coughed, realizing the harshness of his actions.

You slid down the doorframe a little and took in his appearance. It was the first time you’ve seen him since that hotel encounter and your eyes were all but famished to drink in the sight of him. You tried to make up for lost time. You didn’t dare blink. His hair was longer now, styled in a way that you haven’t seen before. It was wild, effortless, and dripping with sex. Almost as if he had his hair windblown, and hair-sprayed in that instant, perpetually framing his face in such a way that made you think he had cameras on him and he was selling some type of designer brand shampoo. His upper lip sported facial hair. He had put on some muscle, possibly for a new role. He wore a leather jacket and black jeans atop black high-tops, red bottomed.He looked no longer a boy, but stood as a man. He smelled salty like the ocean, but fresh, with a peppermint/ eucalyptus mix.

You breathed him in.

He coughed again- disrupting your stupor. 

“Hey liz called and said it was an emergency- whats going on? Its not hops or ford is it?” He worries as he tiptoes to look over your shoulder, his eyes scanning behind you.

“No- no its not that. Come in, man.” You move a little to the right granting him some access to enter. You could have moved away from the door entirely but you felt the need to be near him, to smell his smell just a little bit more, to maybe be able to have your skin touch his skin, accidentally of course.

What a _creep_. You thought.

He did his best to make his way passed you without touching you, in a very obvious way that made you hurt a littl- alot. You pressed up to him then, and he almost fell backwards trying to avoid contact. He made his way in the door with his gaze upon his feet. He dusted his jeans and looked around you.

You felt angry but could not place it towards him.

“Is everything okay? Whats going on?” He almost begged. Being here, right now, seemed to be nothing more than an obligation and Timmy made it obvious he planned to not be here long.

You could feign illness. Make it so you could have Tim stay without a specific time limit, guilt him back into your life again. But, it wouldn’t be a lie entirely. You felt ill. Your heart was broken. Your lungs too. You felt out of breath most days. You felt like you were silently suffocating. You could no longer eat. Could no longer sleep. It seemed like all of your bodily functions no longer worked the same for you.

_Tim_ _was_ _wearing_ _a_ _turtleneck_. What a random observation to intercept your train of thoughts just now.

“Well- things don’t seem to be awry here. Please tell Liz and the kids I said hello-“

He was set to leave, hell, he even had his fingers turned on the doorknob.

“We need to talk Timm-“

“Theres no need.” He waved it off with his hands. He gazed at you, daringly. He swallowed audibly. Or was that you?

He tipped his head back a little, like a kid would do after he did something he was proud of. He even appointed his hands to his waist. He looked victorious. But, for what?

His head tipped back gave way to the movement in his turtleneck. His neck stretched and you found fresh bruises below the neck’s hem. Hickies, really?

“Armie, im seeing someone.”

You were gutted, slaughtered.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

His eyes fixate on the minuscule movements of your face-his eyes diverts to your shoulders and traces them down the length of your arms at your sides.You unclench your jaw and loosen your fists-audibly breathing in and out while heaving your chest with complimentary movements- everything so mechanic while you swear you’re dead inside. You doeverything to make it seem that you’re okay.

 

“Im seeing someone.” You don’t know if Tim has just repeated that or if you’re in some type of hell that just replays your darkest moments. Or if that three sentence hit you like a devastating blow-breaks the inner workings of your mind where the last thing heard replays in your head in an infinite loop.

 

You managed a “Thats great Tim-Im so happy for you.” but it comes off like a conviction- or a guilt confession. Something that you cant bare to swallow-so you hold it-these words in your mouth until you cant stand the taste of it on your tongue anymore and you spit it all away. The aftertaste bitter so you make a grimace-but then you remember to smile so you pull your lips in a way that shows your teeth. 

 

When Tim hears your response he nods like you’ve just answered a question. The grimace/smile transferred to his face now like it was something contagious like a yawn. 

 

He stares at you like it hurts him. Like looking away would be much easier but he forces himself to stare at you so he could remember to hate you for making him feel this way. 

 

He clears his throat.

 

“Look-can we just forget about Paris? I was out of line-I should have never-“ 

 

He stops talking and for a second you don’t know why until you realize your pointer finger is slowly reaching out towards his neck. It catches on the turtleneck and you pull until it exposes his adams apple and it moves just as he swallows. You pull it further to examine the marks on his neck- swipe at them with your thumb like its just a stain that you could wipe away. 

 

In lunacy you actually do think you could erase them this way so you place your fingers to your lips and wet them and you bring both palms to cradle his neck. You work your thumbs and knead the skin under them and fuck- its working. The pressure giving way to a milky white and for a second he is choking and 

 

“Armie- I cant breathe.”

 

You drop your hands while he gulps the air in. But the marks are still there and you bring your tongue and mouth to them then like it just needs more of your saliva to wash (wish) it gone. Your tongue now continuing the same ministrations as your thumb did earlier. He’s pressing into you now and you feel his hardness while it comes to you that you both are still at your front door. The white and yellow lights from Liz’s car emerge through the curtains and it illuminates around you and Tim like stage lights- your shadows stretched in different directions around the room.

 

So you steal a kiss to Tims lips then-because if not now when? You may never get a chance again. Your chin is as wet as his neck with your saliva and you’re playing with fire as you hear the engine stop and the lights to the car go off but you cant stop and in the darkness you are just hands and fingers and lips and you both go at it like the worlds about to end. When you hear the clink of the keys at the door Tim rips away from you and he’s running towards the bathroom but it very well feels like he’s running out of your life and you want to reach for him but you use your hand to adjust your boner instead. You scrub your face dry and rearrange your shirt just as the door opens and Liz says “Hi.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
